Reflection
by SJO
Summary: Adam Monroe remembers someone he met in the Company that had an impression on him.


Reflection

A One-Shot "Heroes" fanfic by SJO

Note: NBC owns "Heroes," not me.

* * *

I can't tell you exactly when it all started. Years ago, almost twenty. It feels like an eternity, but who am I to talk about eternity? 

It must have began when a young man somewhere in his twenties with golden hair made a trip across the Atlantic, his heart brimming with fresh ambitions and hopes and dreams. He had been promised that his new-found talents could be used to incredible ends.

Then he found himself shaking hands with people who made these promises, people I used to call "friends."

* * *

"So, just crossed the pond, have you? Good to have another Englishman on deck." 

"Thank you, Mr. . . ."

"Just call me Linderman. Everyone does."

"Yes, Linderman. Good to meet you."

"And you, son. I hear Angela found you."

"She did. She told me that I could use my pow–uh, talents, for good ends."

"And you will. We will make certain of that."

"Oh, excuse me!" A dark haired man ran up to meet him and shook his hand. "Arthur Petrelli. Angela told me all about you."

"Yes. She told me about you, too. How are your boys?"

"They're doing well. Look, I wanted to give you this. I thought it might inspire you." He handed the young man a video tape.

"The Invisible Man?" the young man read on the label.

"It's one of my favorites, an old black-and-white film, but it's incredible, years ahead of its time. The acting is very convincing."

"Well, thank you. I'm familiar enough with the novel. It's not really fair, though, is it? Both in H. G. Wells and Ralph Ellison's works, the invisible man doesn't have a name. Is anonymity an aspect of invisibility?"

"Of course it is. Besides, you don't really need a name here, do you?

"About that, who am I supposed to talk to get started?"

"I would talk to Bob. He's over there. He'd know what to do."

"Alright, thank you." He walked across the room. "Hello, Bob!"

"Oh hi! You're the new guy. Good to have you."

"I understand that you're the person I need to talk to."

"Talk to about what?"

"About where I go, what I'm going to do, what my first assignment is!"

"Yes. Uh, well we have a number of tests going right now. Over the next week, I'd like for you to monitor our subjects, occasionally talking to them and getting them what they need, food and medication."

"It sounds like . . . you want me to be an orderly."

"That's one way to look at it."

"But, I don't understand. Angela was telling me that you were going to use my abilities to do things. I had the impression that I was going to be a spy or something. Don't I need to go to some sort of training for that?"

"Yes, I understand your confusion. You need to understand, you're coming into a world rather suddenly. You don't know all the changes or what's going to happen. There are others like you who are just as confused. I think it's a good idea that you come in contact with these people, because you'll be working with them from now on."

"Oh. I see. Very well, you know best."

"Come see me first thing in the morning tomorrow. I'll tell you who to see, and I'll give you a chart of where to go."

"Alright. Excellent. I'll do that."

* * *

The next day, in the middle of the day, the young man got lost. Took a wrong turn or two. When it happened that he passed by a locked room, a man inside walked up to a large window facing the hall, lifted the blinds, and looked at him as the young man turned his map upside-down a couple of times. The young man finally caught sight of the older man staring at him. "Is there something I could help you with, sir?" 

"Yes," the man said softly. "Come here. Let me get a good look at you."

"Alright." The man went up to him with uncertainty. The other man continued to examine him. "Do you need me to bring you something? Perhaps something to eat? I could–" He went to the door and slid his card through the reader. "Denied? I thought this was a master key!"

"Oh, don't worry about that. It's never been very cooperative."

"Hang on. I could get Bob to–"

"No, no! That's fine. I don't need anything. We could just talk through the window. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I almost never have visitors. And as odd as it may sound, I feel as though I might know you. Yes, I think I do remember you. You were born and bred in Lancashire, I think."

"That's right. Most people from England can tell that easy."

"You're the youngest of two–no wait, middle of three. At least. Your mother was expecting as I recall, last I saw you."

"So you knew my family. What of it? I don't remember you."

"It's a little more than that, boy."

"Boy? Where do you get off calling me 'boy?' You can't be much older than me."

The man chuckled. "Wanna bet? At any rate, it's what I used to call him, one of his nicknames. What is your real name?"

The young man hesitated for a moment. "Claude. Claude Rains."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Well, it's what I'm going by now."

"Alright then. Your mother's name is 'Mary,' isn't it?"

The young man looked a little amazed at this and nodded.

"I thought as much. You have her eyes." He added in a softer, mysterious voice, "They always inherit the eyes."

"What are you playing at? Are you saying you're my father? I'm sorry, sir, but I know my father."

"No, no, no, boy. I'm not your father. Mary's my daughter."

The young man scoffed. "That's ridiculous! You're pulling my leg."

"You're right, I am."

He laughed. "That was a good one."

"Because Mary's actually the daughter of my son."

The young man stared at him. "What?!"

"Back when I lived in Montreal, I had a son named Mark. He wanted to trace his roots, and of all the places I've been he wanted to go to England. While he was down there, he took a fancy to a flower girl. She bore a daughter that she named after the mother of the Lord. The rest you probably know."

"I do have a grandfather named Mark Monroe. He lives in the Sta–well, he lives here. New York, I think."

"That sounds about right."

"Well, there is one little flaw in your story."

"And what would that be?

"He's 80. And you–well, I could see maybe an estranged, older brother, but . . . this is too much like a Charles Dickens novel, only I'm quite sure Dickens would have trouble believe what you are claiming."

"I know. Seems rather incredible, doesn't it? You need to be a little more used to the incredible if you want to stay here and keep your sanity."

"Well, just how old are you? 28? 30? 32?"

"I lose track so easily, but I think I'm somewhere around 375."

The young man laughed again. "You're not counting reincarnation years, are you?"

"Even if I believed in reincarnation, I wouldn't need them. I can't die, you see, and I can't age."

"Oh. Found the Fountain of Youth, have you? So why did you take a sip when you were 30?"

"I wasn't 30. I was probably about your age when my power was discovered. I remember, when you were a lad, you always wanted stories. And your parents pawned you off on me. 'You've been all around the world,' they said. 'You know stories.'"

"I was like that. I wanted to hear stories about Robin Hood and King Arthur. All I was ever told was stories about some Japanese chap."

"'The Trials of Takezo Kensei.'"

"Yeah, that was it."

"I told you those stories besides the others for one, monumental reason–they were true. And they were part of your history, your legacy."

"Great. That's the story I want to be associated with–a foreigner in Japan becomes a great hero, and then he's betrayed by his best friend and is subsequently destroyed. You know, I read another version that ends a little happier."

"That's the fairy tale version, the romanticized version. The way I told you is how it really happened."

"Well, how do you know?"

"Because I was . . ." The older man paused.

"Yes?"

"You're just going to have to trust me, Sai-yo."

The young man looked off in stunned silence. "That's . . . that's what he used to call me, the man who told me these stories. It's Japanese. He said it means 'talented' and 'godsend.' How did you know about that?"

"Because it was me, boy. I told you those stories not just because your mother wanted me to. I thought you needed to hear them. You're special. I knew it even back then."

The young man suddenly looked at his watch. "I must go. There's someone somewhere expecting their medication."

"You'll come back, will you? I would like to catch up."

"Of course."

"But don't tell anyone you found me. They won't be happy."

The young man turned away and then turned back. "What should I call you? I don't think I could bring myself to call you 'Gramps.' It's just too weird."

"Just call me 'Adam.'"

"Adam. Alright."

* * *

The next afternoon, the older man heard a tap on the window.. "Hello Adam!" 

"Oh, there you are, boy," he said as he lifted the blinds. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you, why are you here?"

"Well, you asked me to come."

"No, I mean why are you here, in the Company?"

"Well, right now I'm helping them with their research. I'm working my way up. It's what you do in the business world, isn't it? Eventually, I expect I will–"

"Boy, please listen. I know this Company, and they expect a certain quality about people. Even the, uh shall we say, non-gifted ones have specific skills about them."

"Oh! You want to know what I do?"

"Yes. Wait, on second thought, let me see if I can guess. Well, it's obvious that you're not like me."

"I'm not?" the young man said with a disappointed tone.

"Yes. That's a gray hair on your shoulder there."

"Well, that might be from my dog."

"You wouldn't have a dog. Not if you're working here. So, can you fly?"

"No."

"Uh, can you heal?"

"No."

"Time traveler?"

He chuckled. "I wish."

"Empath?"

"What?"

"Empath. It means you absorb a number of talents and take them on as your own. It's rather rare."

"No, I don't think that'll be me."

"Oh, let me see, what's another one. Hmmm, how about–where'd you go?"

"I'm still here," a disembodied voice answered. Then the young man appeared back in the window, laughing.

"Oh! Invisibility. That's brilliant!"

"Well, it's nothing–"

"Don't say that! You've been given a wonderful gift!"

"I know, I know."

"I mean, you can see the true heart of man. You can see how people really are, what they do, what they think, what they say, behind closed doors."

"Yech. Why would I want to?"

"I don't think it's a question of whether or not you want to. You need to. We all do."

"Well, what I was going to say is it's nothing compared to you! You can live like a rock star for as long as you like! Never get old, never get tired."

"There's a little bit more to it than that. For one thing, it's really sad."

"Sad? What do you mean? Everyone wants to live forever."

"I've seen things. Everywhere, there's war, and rumor of wars, poverty, pollution, famine, hate. Will it ever stop? This world is wounded, boy, and the wounds aren't healing. In fact, they're getting deeper, worse, and we're just becoming more apathetic. No one's doing anything at all to heal it."

"I will. That's the whole reason I'm here."

"How?"

"I don't know, but I'll do something. I'll make you proud."

"I know you will," the older man replied with a smile.

"But you know, I am sorta curious about one thing."

"What is it, boy?"

"If you can't die, you can't get ill, can you?"

"No. Once anything invades my system, my body immediately repairs it."

"Then why are you quarantined?"

"I'm not quarantined," the older man replied in a low voice. But then he smiled and said, "They just don't want to let me out to play." They both shared a chuckle.

* * *

The young man came every day late in the afternoon and stayed for about an hour. Most of the time, he and the older man traded stories, jokes. They laughed and reminisced. Sometimes, it got too personal, too dark. 

"My father was an alcoholic. He wasn't a very happy person. He died rather suddenly. And my mother . . . well, I probably shouldn't speak ill of her to you."

"It's alright. I've heard it all."

"She didn't want me. She didn't really want any of us. She was out all hours of the night."

"That is a shame. Parents sin, children suffer. I'm so sorry."

"You know, I wanted to be invisible since I was a boy. All this insanity, sometimes I just wanted to disappear. I guess 'be careful what you wish for,' right?"

"No, I understand how you feel. I often wished that myself."

"No, it was a disaster. I remember the day it first manifested. I got up to shave, and I had no reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was scared to death! You know what they say about people who have no reflections. They have no soul."

"Oh, that would be troubling."

"But you know what the good thing was? I made it out, and I never went back. I hope it doesn't upset you."

"No, it's fine."

"Why didn't you come back?"

"Excuse me?"

"You were there when I was a lad. Why weren't you around? You probably would have made my family not quite as miserable."

"Well back then, I was just visiting. I've been on the move for most of my life. Japan, France, America, Germany, Italy, Canada. I haven't lived in England since I was your age, and that's back when 'Robinson Crusoe' was first popular!"

"What have you got against England?"

"I don't know. It's just so . . . boring."

"Well, I guess it is, sometimes. Could be worse."

"Yeah, it could be Antarctica." They both laughed.

"But we could have used you."

"If I could have come back, boy, I would have."

"Alright, I believe you."

"How is your brother?" he asked suddenly.

"He died when I was still young. Didn't you know?"

"I forget. So you're the oldest, living male."

"I suppose that's true."

"I have a warehouse in Montreal where I keep many of the treasures I collected over the years, including my most prized possession–my sword that I wielded as Takezo Kensei."

"What? Is that why you told me those–?"

"It's yours."

"You're giving me a sword?"

"I think you've earned it. You're worthy of its title. Actually, as the Americans say, your name is written all over it. You can pretend your King Arthur, if you want. Or you could sell it. It doesn't matter to me, really."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you. But wait, you're still alive, and you're not going to die. Why do you want me to have it?"

The older man paused. "It serves no use to me anymore. I was going to give it to that other Englishman here."

"Linderman? Is he related to us?"

"Well, not directly, but like you, he has spoken to me frequently. He felt like a son to me, but that was before you came."

"Then I guess I'm glad I got lost."

* * *

"How long has it been since I came here?" 

"A few weeks."

"You know, that's what I thought, but they haven't even mentioned it! I can't believe this! I've done everything they've asked! I've been eager, punctual, reliable. Why won't they let me–"

"What is it, boy? What's the matter?"

"I'm not supposed to be in here. I'm supposed to be out there! I'm supposed to be making a difference."

"Don't I know the feeling?"

"But they promised me. They said my talent was indispensable, that I could use it to better the world. I was all set up to be spy."

"A spy?"

"Yeah. I was excited. I was going to be like James Bond." He made his fingers into a gun and imitated shooting it, complete with gunfire sound effects. "What better asset could a spy have than invisibility to infiltrate the enemy?"

"Tell me, boy, who is the enemy? Do you know?"

"Haven't thought about it. I expect probably the Russians. Maybe the Koreans. It's always the reds, you know."

"How would you feel if they told you that the enemy is me?"

"Well, that wouldn't make sense! What have you done?"

"Nothing. I just want to help the world, to heal it of its wounds, to end its madness. Yet they locked me away. Have you ever wondered why? I've asked you all these questions about yourself. Why is it you never ask me about why I am here?"

"Because I know. You're one of the test subjects. They're trying to understand your Fountain of Youth."

"And who told you that?"

"No one. That's why everybody's here!"

He looked the younger man dead in the eye. "I'm a prisoner here. They're not studying me. They've kept me here for ten years. If they could kill me, they would."

"Why?"

"Because I want to save the world."

"That doesn't make sense. I told them I wanted to help save the world, and they said they would make it happen!"

"And they haven't, have they? This Company is not what it seems. You best be afraid and get out while you can, because they will kill you."

"Get out? And leave you?"

"No. You can fight them from the outside. Listen, there's a vault in the basement of Primatech Papers in Odessa, Texas. Look for something labeled 138. That will end all the madness. You need to find people with telepathy and super strength to open the vault. Perhaps one empath can do it. Then you can sneak in and get it."

"What is it?"

"You'll see. But don't stay here any long and fake your smile. For if the music falls silent, will you still dance?"

The young man chuckled. "Perhaps on your grave." But the older man's expression didn't change. The young man's expression went cold as well, and without a word, he ran out.

* * *

"Why is Adam Monroe here?" 

The young man looked Bob square in the eye after coming into his office suddenly, taking Bob quite by surprise. Bob tried very hard to hide his shock as he replied calmly, "How do you know about Adam Monroe?"

"I've been seeing him on a daily basis."

"He's not on your rounds."

"Right. I got lost the first day, and I happen to find him, and we talked."

"You haven't told me?"

"He told me not to! But you haven't answered my question. He told me that you haven't been studying him. You've been keeping him prisoner for no reason!"

"Oh, there's a reason. Adam Monroe is a dangerous man."

"Don't you know who he is?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, Claude, much better than you."

"He's family! He's the most family I've got."

"Just because his accent is a little similar--"

"This doesn't have anything to do about him being British! He's . . . he . . . sired the man who sired the woman who gave me life!"

Bob was even more stunned at this. "You're sure of this?"

"I know, it sounds rather incredible, doesn't it?"

"How do you know that you're related? Did he give you any proof?"

"Yeah, he has."

Bob was quiet for a while, and then he stood up. "Wait here." He walked right out of his office.

* * *

He went to a lobby where seven other people were gathered. "One of our new charges has been conversing with Adam Monroe." 

They all started murmuring, "Which one?"

"It's the British boy. He's starting to ask questions, and he also claimed that Adam is his great-grandfather."

"Adam told me he didn't like kids," Arthur Petrelli protested.

"Perhaps it has nothing to do with his lack of pleasure in having children. He may see it as his duty to keep his legacy alive," a Japanese man suggested.

"What legacy? He can't die!"

"Well, do you honestly expect that Monroe would leave any of his marriages unconsummated?" another man said with a sneer.

"This isn't the issue!" Bob said. "How could we have missed this?" He looked straight at Angela Petrelli.

"Well, I didn't have time to go through his whole family tree. I'm afraid I just saw the boy's power and brought him over without asking too many questions. I don't think he would have known anyway."

"It wouldn't have made a difference if he did," Linderman replied. "You know what I've been saying. There's no coincidence that his name is Adam. He's the first one."

"There's no way we can tell that," Bob said. "But while we got you on the floor, Daniel, how could you have let this slip by? You were the one that was supposed to be monitoring Adam."

"Well, the companionship seemed to be good for him. We hold Monroe too much in a cage, the man and his ideas."

"His ideas?" an angry looking woman replied. "You're not thinking of acting on them? You know what he was trying to do."

"I'm not saying that, Victoria. I just think some of the things he says has some logic behind them. He deserves an ear."

"I'm not asking you to turn this into a philosophical debate!" Bob said loudly above them. "I'm asking what we should do about this boy!"

"Yes, Daniel, what should we tell him?" Victoria asked sarcastically. "That his grandfather tried to start a pandemic that would have taken out almost the entire global population?"

"There is no reason for him to know that!" Arthur Petrelli chimed in.

"Yes," the Japanese man spoke up. "Even if Adam Monroe did almost commit unspeakable horrors, it would not be right for the child to dishonor his elder."

"Thank you, Kaito. I was thinking along that track as well," Bob nodded. "The boy's been enthusiastic about going out into the field. I think it's time we send him to Ivan for training. Perhaps after he gets that kind of experience, he'll forget all about Adam Monroe. In the meantime, Maury, you probably should give him a nightmare or two tonight to frighten him away from Adam."

"Now, there's no reason to scare the kid to death," an African-American man interjected.

"Charles, until we have a way to make him forget everything, this will have to do."

"We may have such an option," Angela spoke up.

"I know we may, but we don't now, do we? Alright, I need to go back and talk to him. I told him to wait." He walked back down to his office.

* * *

The chair was empty. 

"Claude? Claude?" Bob was starting to think that maybe he had stepped out for a moment when he turned around and saw the young man, bristling with fury. "Where did you come from?"

"There's something you need to learn. I have never been good at waiting. I have my answer. Thank you, goodnight."

"Claude!" The young man stopped as he was trying to leave and turned around. Bob had a look on his face filled with regret. He looked away as though searching for the words to say. Then he stepped forward and looked the young man in the eye. "What you did was a serious breach of security."

"But I never went in. I didn't tamper with the lock."

"I don't think you comprehend how serious this is. Now, we're being lenient with you because of what Adam claims to be. But I must give you fair warning. If you go behind our backs again and do something without our knowledge, even if it is by mistake, even if it is with the best of intentions, the consequences will be dire. We will not be lenient again."

Claude gave a small nod. "Thank you, Bob. I'll keep that in mind."

Bob gave him another look of regret and paused as though he was going to say something else, but then he just bowed his head. "Goodnight, Claude."

The young man turned around and went down the hall, but he thought, "I'll keep it in mind, but it won't stop me from doing whatever the devil I want!" As he thought this, he began to disappear from view.

* * *

The older man was getting ready to sleep, starting to close the blinds, when he heard a tap at the glass. A figure slowly materialized. The older man smiled and raised the blinds. "Why, hello! What a surprise to see you again." 

"I just took your advice. I watched people while they were behind closed doors. And you know what? You were right. I did see a dark side I had never seen before."

"That's very good. You're starting to see things as they really are. That's a very huge step toward maturity."

"But it wasn't their dark side I saw. It was YOURS!"

"Pardon?"

"I know how you want to heal the world of its wounds, as you say. You want to kill everyone! Now, I really don't see that logic. How does killing people heal them?"

"Well, it's happened before. Haven't you ever read Genesis? The great flood? When wickedness overtook the world, God cleansed it of its evil. He had the right idea."

"How do you know? Were you there?"

"No, that's one of the few things that were before my time, but I know it happened. If you've been so many places as I have, you'd noticed every culture has got a deluge story. And so many things you can't really explain any other way."

"Well, even if it did happen, if you ask me, it didn't change much of anything."

"That's the whole point! When that virus is released, there will be some that survive. They will be given a second chance, and they will look to us as heroes!"

"Or, I could risk being your first martyr! Haven't you ever thought of that, Adam? You saw it yourself. I'm not immortal like you. This virus that will kill everybody might KILL ME TOO! Or does that even matter to you?"

"Listen boy–"

"And why do you keep calling me 'boy?!' I'm not five-years-old anymore! I'm a man!"

"A man of what? 21? 23? 25? And I'm pushing 400! You're a boy. It's not until you really glimpse what I've seen that you can become a man."

"So, I'm not mature enough for you? I heard you don't care much children. Go ahead, say it. You didn't care about your son, Mark. You didn't care about Mum. And you don't care about me."

"Why does this upset you? I've had ten wives, ten people in my life that I loved. Nine of them are dead, and the last one will follow. I told you, my ability is actually sad. Everyone I ever loved passes into dust, and I just have to stand there and watch it happen."

"What are you playing at? Do you want me to pity you? No, old man. I don't think this whole plan of yours is to heal wounds, stop madness, or any of that nonsense. It's so you can live like the selfish king you think you are."

"If I am king, then you are a prince! You are my heir, Sai-yo, and I will see to it that you survive. You are my flesh and blood! You have my eyes!" The older man pressed his hand against the glass. "This is a lesson I've learned. You can change your name, your home, your occupation, your family, your accent, even your language. But you cannot deny who you are. And Claude, you are mine."

The young man slowly put his hand on the glass on the same spot, and he looked sadly into the older man's eyes. "You're right," he replied softly. "I can't deny who I am. I am nothing more than your reflection."

And he vanished.

* * *

They never spoke to each other again. A few times, the young man happen to walk down the hall, talking to other people. When the older looked out the window at him, the young man deliberately looked away. There was only one time that they had eye contact, and the young man looked at him so coldly and then turned away. After that, whenever the older man heard his voice at the end of the hall and looked out the window, he'd see no one, even though he could hear footsteps. 

One such day he heard the younger man talking and laughing with an American. As they passed by, they both went silent. The older man only saw through the window the tall American, looking back at him with confusion, and sometimes looking at the other side. As he passed by, the older man sighed and sat down on his bed.

As soon as they cleared the hallway, the older man heard the American say with a laugh, "What's the matter, Claude? Afraid of big, bad Adam Monroe?"

"No, I'm not afraid of him," the young man replied. "I just hate him. That's all."

* * *

Those were the last words I heard him say. And I can't say they didn't hurt. I know a lot of people who hate me, and for good reason. But there was a time I had him in the palm of my hand. He admired me, I know. 

Just weeks later, word reached me that the same man he was talking and laughing with shot him dead. Well, he can't say I didn't warn him.

But then I talked to another boy through the walls. He had a very similar, tragic story. He said he nearly blew up New York. He exploded in the sky because his poor brother flew him to safety. But once he mentioned that he may have exploded earlier had he not had help from an invisible man.

"So, there's another one."

"You mean, you can turn invisible?"

"No, but I knew someone like that a long time ago. But he's dead now."

"I remember, he was English like you. He had quite a chip on his shoulder."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He told me once that he'd seen people for what they really are. He said they were 'selfish, deceitful, and gassy.'"

I chuckled. "What was his name?"

"He said his name was Claude."

"So, he's alive. Where is he?"

"I don't know. He ran away, and I've never been able to find him."

So he must be out there. It sounds as though he's changed. He's understanding so much more, and he's becoming a man.

I think about him often. He was unlike anyone I ever met in the Company. Even the twelve that I gathered didn't figure me out as well as he did. I have to give him that, he's a clever lad.

I don't know if I'll ever see him again, but maybe we'll meet. I'm sure he won't be happy to see me. But I'm not worried. At least he's out there. And maybe if he heard I was free, he's looking for me to give me what I'm due. And maybe he'll find me.

So, boy, will you dance on my grave?


End file.
